Deanaland

Friday, October 28, 2005

Hamster Rights

I'm not exactly a fan of Bill Maher, but I love this quote of his:

"Gay marriage won't lead to dog marriage. It's not a slippery slope to rampant interspecies coupling. When women got the right to vote, it didn't lead to hamsters voting. No court has extended the Equal Protection Clause to salmon."

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Gina

Gina Nall would have turned 33 today. That seems unreal to me because she is frozen in my mind as a 19-year-old. I've always referred to her as "my sister-in-law," but she died before I married her brother. Here's a column I wrote for National Organ Donation Month a couple of years ago:

By Deana NallThe Baytown SunPublished on April 28, 2004

Gina Nall would have been the coolest sister-in-law.

I met Gina in college when I started dating her older brother. Gina and Chad were only 11 months apart, but it was hard to believe they both came from the same parents.

Unlike her straight-laced brother, Gina was a little unconventional. She wore tie-dyed shirts, corn-rowed her hair and drove three hours to rock concerts when she had 8 a.m. classes the next day.

Gina was a trip. We couldn't spend a few seconds together without dissolving into giggles over something stupid. We thought it was funny that our first names rhymed. The two of us once ate a whole box of strawberry Pop-Tarts in one sitting.

Toward the end of the summer of 1992, I flew to Chad's and Gina's hometown of Kenai, Alaska, to meet their family and see the sites. Chad and I had secretly made plans to get engaged later in the fall, and we were going to share the news with Gina when we had a moment alone with her.

But that would have to wait. Gina wanted to spend a few days with friends in Anchorage before returning to school in Texas with Chad and me.

But she never made it back. On her way home, Gina fell asleep, ran off the road and hit a tree. She died at an Anchorage hospital two days later. She was 19.

The day Gina's family decided to take her off life support is a blur to me, but I do remember filing into a room with her family to discuss organ donation. Her parents gave consent to donate her corneas as well as her kidneys, liver and heart.

In the days, weeks and months following Gina's accident, organ donation was forgotten amid the mind-numbing grief and the succession of morbid events that accompanied her death: the funeral, cleaning out her bedroom, returning to school without her, and going ahead with wedding plans that we never had the chance to tell her about.

But then Gina's parents began receiving letters from the recipients of her organs. A surgeon whose failing vision had forced him to quit working was able to take up his livelihood again -- thanks to Gina's corneas. Another man had received Gina's heart and was looking forward to watching his grandchildren grow up. He's 74 now.

The woman who received Gina's liver is also still going strong at age 79. Just recently, my father-in-law learned that both kidney recipients, a man in Hawaii and a woman in California, have passed away. The kidney transplants extended their lives for at least ten years, and they both died of something other than kidney failure.

Losing Gina was horrible. But five families have had their prayers answered through the donation of her organs. And I can live with that.

In fact, a lot of people could live with someone else's organs -- 82,000 adults and 1,000 children under 10, according to the National Kidney Foundation. To learn how to sign up to be a donor, and to learn about every type of organ donation, visit the National Kidney Foundation at www.kidney.org, or call 1-800-622-9010.

Happy Birthday, Dad!

That’s not something that made the papers, so I’ve decided to put it in the paper myself.

I wouldn’t be alive today it weren’t for Winston. And not just because he’s my dad. He really did save my life once.

I was two years old, and we were riding a horse together at a camp in northern New Mexico. Something spooked the horse, and it threw both of us high into the air. My dad managed to land on the horse, but my small body was falling swiftly toward the ground.

In a split-second effort to prevent a tragedy, my dad stuck his arm out and caught me by my neck in the crook of his elbow. In the stunned silence that followed, I hung from his arm, choking and gasping for air. But I was OK.

My dad was 35 when I was born. Most of my friends’ dads were 10 and 15 years younger than he was. I heard a lot of “Deana, your grandpa’s here to pick you up!” when I was a kid.

But I never cared about the age difference. That’s because my dad was a lot more fun than those other dads. He was a minister, and we never had a ton of money, but he still splurged on me. When I was about nine, he rented the local skating rink for just the two of us. It was an old, run-down skating rink, and for two hours we skated around on the aging wooden floors and played 45s on the record player in the DJ booth.

In the summers, when a lot of my friends went on expensive vacations to places like Disney World, we traveled to Beaumont to visit my dad’s family. He would drive me around and show me his old schools and tell me about life as a teenager in the ’50s. Because of his stories, I developed an appreciation for the music and cars of the era.

“I wish,” he would tell me. “That you could have been in high school with me. We would have had a blast.”

It’s amazing what dads will do for their daughters. When I won first place in an art contest in elementary school, my dad stood in the hallway near my painting for the better part of a day and let passersby know that it was his daughter who had painted it. I was so embarrassed. But he was just being a proud dad.

He’s still unabashedly proud of me. When I started writing for The Baytown Sun, he sent a letter to the editor gushing about how wonderful my writing was. He neglected to mention that he was my dad, and the letter got printed.

My dad was diagnosed with peripheral neuropathy a few years ago. It’s a good bet he’ll never wear skates again. But he’s still the same dad — showering his granddaughters with the love and attention he gave me when I was growing up. .

Good parents pass the best of themselves on to their children. And they teach them what’s truly important in life — not money, but God, family and laughter. My dad gave me all of that and a whole lot more.

Monday, October 24, 2005

The Rejected Crayons

My Crazed Offspring

Yes, this is my child. Jenna's partying it up at her grandpa's 70th birthday party at Olive Garden. That's spinach on her chin. All she needs is a lampshade on her head. That's Julia trying to give her rabbit ears.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

Note to Self...

Note to self:

Next time the Astros really suck, the next time they are having such a lousy season that they can't pay people to buy tickets to their games, buy all the Astros T-shirts you can find.

Right now there are two kinds of people in the Houston area. Those who have Astros shirts, and those who are trying to find them. We fall into both categories. Friday, after wriggling my way into a mob of people in Foley's, I was able to secure an Astros World Series shirt. It was really for Julia, but the smallest size I could find was a women's medium. So I thought I would wash it and dry it to see how small I could get it. It's 100% cotton, so after drying, it looks a little weird. Julia still wants to wear it, though. I think I might keep it for myself, since it actually fits me, and try to find Julia one her size. I need to hurry before the Series is over.

On a heavier note, I'm still reading Garrison Keillor's "Good Poems for Hard Times." Yes, I'm still on my poetry thing and you're just going to have to deal with it. Here's another one I wanted to share:

"September Twelfth, 2001by X.J. Kennedy

Two caught on film who hurtlefrom the eighty-second floor,choosing between a fireballand to jump holding hands,

Saturday, October 22, 2005

Some Poetry

I'm reading Garrison Keillor's compilation of poems called "Good Poems for Hard Times." Here's a short one I wanted to share:

"The Gooseby Muriel Spark

Do you want to know why I am alive today?I will tell you.Early on, during the food shortage,Some of us were miraculously presentedEach with a goose that laid a golden egg.Myself, I killed the cackling thing and I ate it.Alas, many and many of the other recipientsDied of gold-dust poisoning."

I think it's saying that blessings aren't always where you think they are. Sometimes you have to get creative to find them.

I also find it amusing that the people died of gold-dust poisoning. Is that bad?

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Silent Birth

By Deana Nall

Baytown Sun

Published October 19, 2005

We have something new to blame on our mothers.

Have you felt kind of traumatized your whole life? Do you have certain fears you can’t explain? Well, according to the Church of Scientology, your problems could have resulted from your mother screaming during childbirth.

This is why Scientologists advocate a birth method called “silent birth,” during which the mother does not express pain. Use of music is also discouraged, as well as medical personnel communicating with each other. The idea is that sounds during birth can traumatize the baby because “any words spoken are recorded in the reactive mind and can have an aberrative effect on the mother and child,” according to Scientology founder L. Ron Hubbard.

If you’ve never heard of the word “aberrative,” that’s OK. Neither has my spell checker.

Oh, and the Church of Scientology also frowns upon the use of painkillers during childbirth. No drugs and no yelling. This should make for an interesting combination.

Silent birth has been in the news lately because Katie Holmes, fiancée of Scientologist Tom Cruise, has opted for this birth method when the couple’s baby arrives in a few months.

Katie is so fortunate to have landed a guy like Tom, what with everything he knows about psychiatric disorders and childbirth and all. He’s a real gem. Congratulations, Katie. I’m sure you’ll be as happy as Tom’s first two wives were.

Anyway, reading up on silent birth got me thinking. I’ve always been afraid of heights. Even standing on a chair to change a light bulb makes my head a little swimmy. And I’ve never understood why.

Until now! I raced to the phone, dialed my mom’s number and asked her something I had never asked her before.

“Did you yell when you were giving birth to me?” I inquired.

“No, I probably just moaned a little,” she said.

I should mention here that the Church of Scientology approves of a little moaning during silent birth. “Then why am I afraid of heights?” I wanted to know.

“What?” she asked.

What, indeed. I’m thinking this silent birth thing holds about as much water as Scientology’s stance against medication for psychotic disorders. No drugs and no way to express your pain. This doesn’t sound like a birth method to me. It sounds like a recipe for a messy celebrity divorce.

I’ve come up with my own birth method. It’s called “harsh reality birth.” I think the mother should scream her lungs out during birth, if she is so compelled. And she should scream things like “Welcome to the world, where gas prices and divorce rates are at an all-time high!” and “If you’re ever going to hope to afford college, you’ll have to start working full time by age five!”

Hey, life is hard. Might as well let the kids know about it as soon as they get here.

As for my own birth experiences, I was pretty quiet during my C-sections. As soon as my first was born, I do recall anxiously asking the anesthesiologist if the baby had any hair. Well, she didn’t. Until she was almost two.

Saturday, October 15, 2005

A Music Game

1. Go to musicoutfitters.com and, in the search box provided, enter the year you graduated high school. For me, that would be 1989.2. From the search results, click the link for the top 100 songs of that year.3. With the resulting list:

Thursday, October 13, 2005

O Dear Christian College

Is it sad that this doesn't surprise me at all? I wasn't in a club at ACU, but I knew the kinds of things that went on during pledging and I was always aggravated that some of the clubs -- especially Sub T -- didn't get in trouble for the things they were doing. There was an attitude of "It's all in the name of tradition, besides, boys will be boys" type of attitude on the part of their sponsors and alumni. I really hope they get charged with hazing -- it would be better than some pledge choking to death on his own vomit. I have more to say about this but I'll post it later.

Three social clubs disciplined at Christian college

ABILENE, Texas (AP) < Three Abilene Christian University social clubs havebeen disciplined for inappropriate pledging activities, including oneaccused of hazing.

The social clubs are similar to Greek fraternities and sororities but arenot nationally affiliated with chapters at other college campuses.

ACU Police Chief Jimmy Ellison said Wednesday his department isinvestigating outside reports of hazing at Sub T-16 men¹s social club, butno pledges have made specific allegations or expressed an interest in filingcriminal charges. Hazing is a Class B misdemeanor in Texas.

The university has suspended all Sub T-16 pledging activities, said WayneBarnard, associate provost for student development.

Delta Theta women¹s social club is inactive for the rest of the semesterafter its advisers resigned over conflicts with officers about how physicalthe pledging activities should be, Barnard said.

Pledging also was suspended for Galaxy men¹s social club after it held anevent that was not approved by the college.

Michelle Morris, vice president for university relations, said the mistakesof a few clubs or members don¹t represent the values of all groups.

³Social clubs are an integral part of our campus community, and we expectthe officers and members to reflect Christian values in all theiractivities,² Morris said in a statement.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Dear Graco...

By Deana Nall

The Baytown SunPublished Oct. 12, 2005

Dear Graco,

Having been parents for almost seven years, we've used many of your baby products. Our two children have gone through one swing, two strollers, three monitors, a couple of playards and a highchair. You make good stuff, and you've helped make our girls' early years easier. Thank you.

My complaint is this: I don't know how to get rid of this stuff.

Oh, I know we could give it to someone who needs it. We have done that with some of the clothes our 1-year-old is outgrowing at an alarming rate.

But some things I just can't let go.

My husband, who has never attached a sentimental feeling to an inanimate object in his life, does not have this problem. While I stash teeny baby socks in my jewelry box and stained sleepers in my hope chest, he has no problem carrying a baby swing out to the curb and leaving it there.

When our first child starting outgrowing her stuff, I had the excuse of "saving it for the next baby." Well, the next baby is here, and, if things go as planned (not that either one of our children was planned), she is also the last baby. So my excuse is gone.

We're still using the stroller, the highchair and the crib. The item at issue right now is the swing. We don't want to give it away because the latch on the seat is broken, and we would hate for some poor child to get an unexpected lesson in gravity. So we really just need to throw it away.

But this is the swing that rocked our first baby to sleep every day, then waited patiently in storage for five years before faithfully rocking our second to sleep. And we're supposed to set it out with our dirty diapers and empty pizza boxes?

Here's an idea. You should make all of your baby products so that they can be used as something else. They already make cribs that convert into toddler beds. Why not a baby swing that turns into a couch? Or a nice coffee table? How about a stroller that converts into a mountain bike? Believe me, parents -- at least emotionally unstable moms like myself -- would snap this stuff up.

Meanwhile, I've found a way to get rid of baby stuff without completely ripping my heart out. I've taken a bouncy seat, a baby gym and an Exersaucer to the nursery at our church. That way I can visit them every once in a while.

I am trying to work on my emotional attachments to my kids' things. I've been reminding myself that in ten years or so, when our daughter brings her prom date home and he trips over her Pack 'n' Play, well, that will just be embarrassing. So I need to work through this before then. Maybe your company could also offer therapy for mommies who buy your products. Throw in some Starbucks gift certificates, and we should be just fine.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

True Confession #4

Before I leave in the mornings to take Julia to school, I have to make sure all the TVs in the house are off. If I don't, I'll walk in the house when I get back and hear people talking and it will scare the holy soup out of me.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Smart Blondes

“I have seen the breakups between people who love each other and rush into getting married too quickly,” Hilton told the Associated Press last week. “I do not want to make that mistake.”

So she broke off her engagement. What? Call off a wedding? Because it may not be a good idea? I bet the jaws hitting the floor in Hollywood registered on the Richter scale. Good for you, Paris. I think more famous people should decide not to get married. You’re doing your part to give us blondes a good name.

Incidentally, I also said something intelligent recently. It was the Wednesday before Hurricane Rita was due to arrive. I said, “Honey, I think we should leave today instead of tomorrow.”

It was the best hunch I’ve ever had. We got to Waco in a completely reasonable amount of time with relatively happy children. I am truly sorry for those of you who didn’t. I’ve heard all the stories — stories I’m so thankful aren’t mine. From our experience with Rita (which, interestingly enough, is also my mother-in-law’s name), we have perfected the Nall Evacuation Plan:

1) Decide when we’re going to leave.

2) Leave 24 hours before that.

Oh, and here’s an important one:

3) Don’t head into the path of the storm.

We did consider going to my aunt’s house in my hometown of Beaumont so we could be closer to home. I decided my friend’s house in Waco would be a bit more kid-friendly. Turns out it would also be safely out of Rita’s way, which Beaumont was not.

Here’s the crucial final component of our evacuation plan:

4) In college, when you’re setting up your best friend on a date with a guy she just might marry, make sure he’s a pre-med major so that 14 years later, after you’ve evacuated to her house during the biggest honkin’ hurricane to threaten the area in decades and everyone in both families has contracted a hideous stomach virus, there will actually be a doctor living in the house to hand out drugs.

Yes, between the two families of four, all but our Jenna spent at least a night calling Ralph on the big white phone, or driving the porcelain bus, or riding the wild yak, or whichever is your euphemism of choice. The grown-ups seemed to have had it worse than the kids. I, for one, remember seeing dead relatives at one point. My grandmother, who died in 1996, said to tell everyone “hi.”

We all got better and came home (but not before stopping at my parents’ house and passing the virus on to them). To our relief, our house was still standing — although there was a tree on my daughter’s bedroom. We had been wanting to cut it down, anyway, and why pay for something that nature can do for free?

Of course, there’s that unsightly hole in the roof. But in the grand scheme of things, it’s not really that important. As I told our 6-year-old, what matters is that we’re all together and we’re safe.

I hope you found everything at your house to be pretty much like it was pre-Rita. And I hope it’s a long, long time before another hurricane comes our way.

Sunday, October 02, 2005

First and Last

Nobody tagged me with this. I stole it off another blog.

First memoryMy first memory is lying on my stomach in my crib and my mom rubbing my back.

First kissMy first kiss, which I've never really counted, was in second grade with my boyfriend named Alan. My next first kiss was in 7th grade with the husband of someone who reads this blog! They weren't married yet, though.

First concertI heard my parents took me to see Ricky Nelson when I was two and that I cried though the whole thing.

First loveJason in high school. It was one of those wonderfully tragic high school romances.

First thing you think in the morningI need to get a shower before Jenna wakes up.

First book you remember loving"On the Banks of Plum Creek" by Laura Ingalls WIlder

First petSnoopy the part-dachsund, part who knows what. We had him for nine years.

First Question you'll ask in heaven (if that's allowed)I really don't feel the need to ask any questions. It will all be over then, so who cares?

First place you think of when you hear the word vacationWhat's that?

First best friendChristi Ravanelli when we were 3 and 4. I still see her once in a blue moon. We ended up sitting together at an ACU luncheon thing a year or so ago and had a great time.

Last time you dressed upAt Crestview Church of Christ in Waco last Sunday. (I kept Jenna in today. We were both kind of... snotty.)

Last thing you ateLeftover peach pie that I microwaved.

Last CD boughtI bought Julia Third Day's Offerings II about a month ago.

Last time you criedI don't remember. Chad says it was a few weeks ago when I was stressed out over something.

Last time you told someone you loved themJust now when I had to re-tuck Julia into bed.

Last really fun thing you didLived with the Partins for six days!

Last thing you watched on tvDesperate Housewives (this is Sunday night, after all)

Last Halloween CostumeI was Rosie the Riveter at my Bunco Halloween party last year. (If you don't know who that is, read up on your WW II history.)

About Me

I'm a wife, mom and writer. I'm a Texan who just happens to live in Little Rock, Arkansas. I love watching my children when they're sleeping. I love rock music way too much. My husband is the most incredible blessing God has given me. I eat right out of the ice cream carton when no one's around.